Chapter 29: Flower Blooming in the Plague (4)

“I am Belgian. I have come to make a most interesting proposal to you, who deals with death as I do.”

The fallen noble, Belgian, bowed gracefully.

His face became visible only after he drew a little closer.

Beneath the red lantern, the right side of his face was covered by a mask.

“Judging by that crow mask, you seem to be the one called Teacher Schnabel. Or have I come to the wrong place?”

“No. You've come to the right place.”

At my reply, the man named Belgian smiled faintly.

My brow furrowed as I watched his smile.

Though, of course, it was not visible since I was wearing a mask.

“Good. Then let us begin again. I have heard much about the things you have accomplished in this pit.”

“I was lucky.”

“Haha! Have you forgotten your nobility from rolling around in this gutter for too long? Humility is a virtue brandished only by the lowly ones who have nothing. Have you ever seen a magnificent peacock hide its tail? Even if we stand in a mud puddle like this, noble ones such as ourselves must willingly spread our wings and display our power if we have it.”

As the man verbosely preached his convictions, Erika's cheeks stiffened.

“Ugh. He sounds like a nouveau riche.”

she muttered in a voice that only we could likely hear.

I agreed with her one hundred percent.

“Ah, I've been rambling on by myself. It's a bad habit of mine. My apologies.”

“It's alright. So, what is the story with this ghoul you sent me?”

“Hmm... Where should I begin explaining my grand blueprint so that you can easily understand...”

Belgian stroked his unmarred left jaw smoothly, then opened his mouth again.

“Yes, let's start like this. I intended to teach order to the savage beasts of H-Sector. I needed to bring that disorderly filth bucket completely under my heel.”

“For a nouveau riche, his dreams are way too big... Mmph!”

Wangcho's rough hand clamped over Erika's mouth.

And bringing his face close to Erika's ear, he whispered in a voice loud enough for me to hear.

“Watch your mouth, kiddo. That man is Rank 2.”

“Eek?! Why is a Rank 2 here?”

“I don't know, punk. But a man like that could easily unify H-Sector.”

Aha.

So he's Rank 2.

I could only sense up to Rank 1.

People can normally only sense one level of mastery higher than their own.

A Rank 0 can only sense up to Rank 1, and a Rank 1 can only sense up to Rank 2.

Because of this, it was possible for a Rank 1 to mistake a Rank 7 for a Rank 2.

“So for now, just focus on staying on his good side, kiddo.”

At Wangcho's warning, Erika swallowed dryly.

Fortunately, Erika's muttering seemed not to have reached Belgian's ears.

Belgian was still under the red lantern, continuing to speak with the exaggerated gestures of a stage actor.

“But to achieve my goal, I needed an army to fight for me. Fortunately, the right time for a great undertaking had come.”

I knew without him having to say it.

For a black magician to create a ghoul from scratch costs a significant amount of magical power.

In this world setting where not everyone has ample magical power, creating ghouls this way has a limit of one per day at most.

For this reason, black magicians often seek out places with an abundance of profane symbols and stagnant magical power.

Because finding a good spot can save them dozens of times the magical power.

It's easier to understand if you think of it as looking for a place with low humidity to start a fire.

And it goes without saying, it's easier to start a fire where an ember already exists than to start from scratch.

That black magician seemed to have used this.

“Were you waiting for the spontaneous generation of ghouls?”

“Hoh. You've even learned magic? Excellent.”

But there were others here who couldn't follow our conversation.

“Wizards' conversations are as difficult as ever. Kiddo, I heard you've been studying magic lately. Did you understand that?”

“I haven't even finished the basics yet. What about you, Wangcho?”

“Hmm. I reached Rank 1 through other means, not magic.”

At the sound of the two whispering, Belgian's brow narrowed.

But it was only for a moment.

He suddenly smoothed his brow and spoke with an air of showing off.

“Enlightening the ignorant underlings is also a duty, if you will, for those who rule.”

Tap, tap.

Belgian raised his cane and struck the floor twice.

His shadow then stretched from his feet and seeped into the headless corpse of Narrenkönig, which lay in the mud puddle.

Crack! Squeak!

“Eek!”

Erika shrieked and hid behind Wangcho's back.

The enormous body, which had been limp just moments before, now staggered to its feet with a grotesque cracking of bones.

Dripping dark red blood from its severed neck, the corpse stood tall beside Belgian.

Belgian tapped the headless clown's shoulder with his cane and spoke arrogantly.

“Raising a beast from scratch is hard work, but putting on a leash isn't so difficult. To put it more simply, if it's a spontaneously generated ghoul, all you need is lead, you lowly ones.”

Lead carries the symbol of iron that traps the soul.

I don't know the principle behind it.

That's just the law of this world.

For this reason, black magicians sometimes use lead as an antenna by sticking it into a corpse's head or neck to control it.

As a side note, this is why the strategy of "crush the skull first when you see undead" came about.

“Fate, it seems, was on my side. I was even able to find such a fine corpse this winter. Thanks to that, preparing for my great undertaking became much easier.”

Belgian said, tapping the headless clown's knee with his cane.

“But the problem is that Rank 1 corpses have too strong a self-awareness. To think it would break my control as soon as it found its killer. I originally sent it to escort you.”

An escort by ghoul.

For starters, I could tell that man was not in his right mind.

“Normally, I would have to exact a price from you all for ruining my precious collection. However...”

Belgian looked up at the headless corpse.

His gaze turned cold.

“But it seems I was the one who was rude. I never imagined it was someone with whom you had a relationship of gratitude and resentment. To have sent such a being as an errand runner, I shall apologize.”

Snap!

He snapped his fingers, and the clown's body inflated as if filled with gas.

Poof!

And with the sound of air escaping, the body disappeared.

Where the clown had stood, only a splashing liquid remained, seeping into Belgian's shadow.

“My apologies. I vow I had no idea this one was entangled with you in a relationship of gratitude and resentment.”

“It's fine. So, why were you looking for me?”

“Ah, about that.”

Belgian clapped his hands and gave a bright smile.

“I heard that you've been healing people with just a needle and thread, without using divine magic.”

“...”

“That technique of patching lost skin with other skin! Surely you must be skilled in the chimera creation method as well. Am I wrong?”

“Umm...”

I couldn't bring myself to deny it.

While I was deep in my magic studies, I did think it might be possible if I got good enough.

I even learned limb transplant surgery when I went to America for training in my previous life, so I have a rough idea of how to do it.

Of course, I never even thought of trying it.

I had no desire to see a creation saying something like, 'Yulian onii-chan... let's play...'

But Belgian seemed to take my silence as an affirmation.

“So I wish to make you a proposal. How about you join me? It's embarrassing to admit, but my black magic knowledge is self-taught. If my military force and your chimera technique were combined, conquering this gutter would be a simple matter.”

“I refuse.”

It was a proposal not even worth hearing.

Why on earth would I, of all people, need to join hands with him?

I have no hobby of boarding a sinking ship.

I haven't read the original work, but I could tell without seeing it that this black magician was destined for ruin.

There's no way people who play such games with human lives have a good end.

Most importantly, I am the protagonist.

There was not a single reason to join hands with a villain.

“I'll say it as many times as I need to. I have no interest, Mr. Belgian.”

“Hmm. Was my proposal perhaps lacking? Then I shall add more to the conditions.”

He extended the hand not holding the cane toward me.

“If I come to rule H-Sector, I will supply you with research material regularly. As it happens, there were some factions in H-Sector who opposed my rule. I will hand their bereaved families over to you.”

“...Are there children among them?”

“Oh, do you need them? I can prepare as many as you want. This place is overflowing with little ones who do nothing but consume food.”

At his words, Erika's shoulder flinched.

Seeing his answer, along with Erika's reaction, I made my decision.

'Belgian. You cannot join me.'

They say that in web novels these days, murder isn't a reason for disqualification as a comrade, but even so, you don't mess with family.

Even I can't whitewash that.

“I'm sorry.”

I said, secretly pressing the silver bullet into Otto's hand.

I could fire it myself, but my opponent is a Rank 2 superhuman.

Otto has a much better chance of hitting the target than I do.

I had no worries about whether it would work on a superhuman.

Because this very bullet was famous enough to have been used in the Count Assassination Incident long, long ago.

But Belgian, completely unaware that I had already made up my mind, clung to me desperately.

“Why do you act this way? Aren't you also someone whose goal is to get revenge on the higher-ups?”

“Why do you think so?”

“There's no need to hide it. I'm in the same boat as you, after all.”

Belgian took off his mask.

The porcelain that covered his right face and forehead was gone, and beneath it, a face disfigured by burns was revealed.

“I was framed, just like you. There was a time I worked my fingers to the bone, thinking my father would acknowledge me as his son if I did well. But look at me now.”

He twitched his right jawbone, clearly visible where the flesh of his cheek was gone.

And he pointed to his forehead.

“Behold! This glorious curse! The elders of my family called me a stain and carved this dirty brand on me. Don't you have the same wound as me?”

“...”

Now I understood.

That man hadn't sought me out simply because he coveted my skills.

He must have come after hearing the rumors about me circulating in the Limbus Pit.

Something about a healer from the uppertown failing to heal someone in a ducal family...

Rumors like that.

“Tell me the family you wish to take revenge on. Once I've had my revenge, I will help you with yours. Just say the word. The Rotmund family? The Eifenbein Family? Or is it the Order?”

He extended his hand again.

His hand seemed to exude desperation.

“Please, do not refuse this hand. I am, by nature, a very affectionate person, so I cannot bear to leave behind those like you.”

“...”

I was starting to get tired of listening to him.

The misunderstanding genre is all well and good, but the problem is that villains also misunderstand me.

This wasn't the kind of misunderstanding I wanted to exploit, so I reached for my mask to clear up Belgian's misconception.

I quietly raised my hand and undid the mask's chin strap.

Realizing I was about to take off my mask, Belgian's face flushed slightly as he rejoiced.

“Yes! That's it!”

Wangcho's gaze also fixed on my face.

He had always kept his distance, insisting he wasn't curious about my identity, but it seemed he had been curious deep down.

Amid everyone's stares, I took off the mask.

“I'm sorry, but... I have never once confirmed those rumors.”

Clack.

The crow-beak mask came off my face.

Beneath the light of the red lantern, my bare face was revealed.

No monster's brand, no rotting skin, no hideous scars.

A perfectly normal, even pristinely clean face, to the point of being pale.

Seeing this, Belgian's expression instantly hardened.

Chirp, chirp.

Only the sound of crickets from the gutter filled the alley.

It was I who broke the awkward silence.

“Cough...!”

Dammit.

A cough came out as soon as I took off the mask.

As expected, the air of the lowertown is too foul.

Only after hearing that cough did Wangcho let out a dry laugh.

“Ha... Teacher. Have you been living while hiding that face?”

“What's wrong with my face?”

“With that face, you could marry into any noble family as an adopted son-in-law and live in luxury for the rest of your life. Why on earth did you come down to a gutter like this and insist on covering it? No, wait. In the brothel district, with a face like that, perhaps you should wear a mask?”

Erika, who had been hiding behind Wangcho, also peeked her head out

“I know, right. I never understood why you wore a mask every time we went out either.”

“Kiddo, you must have known.”

“That's why I understood it even less.”

Even Otto nodded.

“...”

What's with this atmosphere?

Hmm. Is it really that good?

I pondered for a moment, then shook my head.

'No matter how I think about it, it's not that good.'

Looks are half-determined by one's skin.

And skin is half-determined by hygiene.

In a world like this where people don't even use soap properly, my well-cared-for skin, washed with soap every day, is bound to be seen as beautiful as a celestial maiden's.

On top of that, I'm indoors all day long and even block out the harsh air with a mask.

I could admit that my skin was smooth.

But as for being good-looking... I'm not so sure.

'What's so good about a gloomy-looking face like this?'

I'd agree it's pretty, but I found it hard to agree with the rest.

There are plenty of guys in the uppertown who are more handsome than me.

Even half of Belgian's face, who was an illegitimate child, is strikingly handsome, so what's the big deal?

“Even if you praise me like that, there's nothing I can do for you.”

“No, I'm serious. Teacher, don't you look in the mirror?”

“Erika. That's enough.”

However, it seemed my neat appearance had become the most terrible insult in the world to someone.

Especially to a fallen illegitimate child who looked like he hadn't washed in years.

“Lies...”

Belgian's lips trembled.

His eyes, once filled with camaraderie, joy, and anticipation, gradually began to waver.

Soon, those eyes began to twist with an uncontrollable sense of betrayal and inferiority.

“It's a lie...! You... there's no way you're the same as me!”

A black energy began to creep up from under his feet.

“Did you... deceive me...?”

His trembling hand gripped his cane tightly.

Magical power began to swirl, vibrating the surrounding air.

“How dare you!! Deceive me by pretending to be noble, pretending to be wounded?! You were just the same as those idiots all along! To laugh at me! To make a spectacle of my pain!!”

He shrieked, raising his cane.

Hmm.

I tried to clear up the misunderstanding, but he just misunderstood in a different way.

I guess that's the misunderstanding genre for you.

Next time, it might be better to just act in a way that doesn't clear up the misunderstanding.

“You deceiver! I'll tear off that handsome face skin of yours and turn you into a real monstrosity!!”

Kwaaaaaang-!

Along with Belgian's shout, black magical power erupted from the tip of his cane.

He pulled something out from his coat.

It was a small glass vial.

“Sanio et Putro! (Pus! Rot!)”

I immediately listened closely to the content of the chant.

A chant is a bargain with the world.

A bargain asking the world to allow a spell to be cast with less magical power in exchange for understanding its conditions.

In other words, if you can grasp the chant, you can predict the spell the opponent will cast to some extent.

“Morde Cuten Eos (Gnaw their skin!)”

He threw the glass vial to the ground.

With a Clang! a bright yellow liquid flowed out of the glass vial.

Seeing its ichor-like appearance, I had a vague idea of the spell he was about to cast.

A normal chant usually takes about a minute, so there was still time to react.

“It's a plague curse!”

I turned the bag I was holding upside down and poured out its contents.

It's not as good as my gas mask, but I remembered there was a mask inside.

Of course, being a Rank 2's curse, a mere mask wouldn't be able to block it completely.

But it should be possible to reduce a deadly curse to a merely painful one.

But before I could even take out the mask, Belgian suddenly terminated the chant.

“Efflora, Morbiflos (Bloom, Flower of Plague!)”

I was startled and met his gaze.

He was looking at me with a fishy smile.

“Did you think I would give a business partner time to react? A pity. I do not underestimate you.”

Belgian swayed.

It was likely because he'd had a huge amount of magical power drained as the price for shortening a chant that would normally take a minute.

But in return, he was able to cast the spell without even giving us time to react.

The black mist enveloped us.

A sweet yet nauseating smell of decay stung my nose.

I belatedly put on my gas mask and shouted to the rest of the group.

“At least hold your breath!”

As soon as the black mist subsided and everyone became visible,

I immediately checked the condition of my companions.

“Everyone, if you feel a fever or any pain, report your symptoms immediately...”

“Huh? Nothing's happening.”

But contrary to my expectations, no one was hurt.

Erika sniffed the air and tilted her head, and Wangcho just patted himself down, reporting no symptoms.

Belgian's face, already staggering from sudden magical exhaustion, twisted.

“That can't be? Did it misfire?”

He took out another glass vial, threw it on the ground, and conjured the black mist again.

This time, it was chantless casting.

“Keuk...”

Staggering from the extreme magical power drain, he still managed to cast the spell chantlessly, likely out of pride.

The mist rose once more, and once more, it subsided.

“...Isn't that guy a fraud?”

Erika muttered, appearing perfectly fine.

This time, it seemed to have reached Belgian's ears.

“This lowly wench... keuk...!”

But perhaps because he had exhausted all his magical power, he seemed to have trouble even leaning on his cane.

“Impossible... Why isn't it working? And why is it costing so much magical power...!”

Belgian's staggering gaze swept the floor.

In the process, his gaze fixed on my things scattered on the ground.

To be precise, on a glass vial that looked similar to the one Belgian had been holding.

“Could it be...!”

Belgian's eyes went wide.

“You had a catalyst as well...!”

Seeing that, just in case, I asked him a question.

“Don't tell me, did you use pus from smallpox as a catalyst?”

Belgian's shoulder flinched.

It was practically an admission.

Only then did I realize what kind of plague he had been trying to curse us with.

'I was wondering what kind of curse it was, but it was a smallpox curse?'

If that's the case, then of course it wouldn't work.

Because everyone here, including the people of D-Sector, had already been secretly vaccinated by me.

To use a metaphor, it's like trying to light a fire with wet wood.

It wouldn't work well even if you poured oil on it, and on top of that, he used chantless casting, so of course his magical power wouldn't last.

On top of that, the variable of immunity was missing from the chant and the formula, so the bargain failed, further increasing the magical power consumption rate.

'Good grief. Of all the curses he could have used, why did it have to be smallpox...'

I thought as I watched Belgian, who was panickedly checking his magical power.

As expected.

No matter how I think about it, the luck of a misunderstanding genre is far more important than a hundred days of effort.